Another Color
by Epsilon Sylvati
Summary: The 'Others' have come to overtake the current nations, but their identities blend with their other selves. With identical faces, it's easy to mistake a friend for a foe, and an enemy for an ally. The Nordics must stick together to ward off their own destructive Others, but will they survive, or are they really traveling with an adversary? (Sucky summary, sorry. Also on hold.)
1. Chapter 1

I got this idea in my head and I wanted to see it written out! As per usual, it will revolve around the Nordics. However, this time I plan to delve deeper into each of the Nordic's characters, and create a rounder story with an in depth inclusion with the entire group. Depending on the feedback, I may or may not continue this. Nonetheless, some notes before you read:

I will use the human names of the nations to describe the 'other' nation's self. For example, America will be the original, and Alfred will be the nation from the other world. For nations who do not have human names, I will simply make them up.

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

* * *

_Epilogue_

The countries blamed the doppelgangers on a rip between dimensions, though quantum physics was no nation's expertise. Instead of agreeing with the nations, high class scientists blamed the entire incident on a severe chemical imbalance to the land and a neglect of adequate environments due to the build up of pollution and trash. Perhaps because the land was dying, the earth gave birth to a new set of the same nations in similar states of destruction.

Whether the countries believed in the rumored explanation or the scientific one, the 'others' were much more unpredictable. They wore the same face as the current nations, but had varying inconsistencies: different hair color, different eye color, and, most often times, a completely different personality.

Now this isn't to say the others appeared all at once. No, they appeared alone one by one or in small groups of two or three. The first other to appear was Alfred.

The man carried a dangerous swagger to his walk and a lethal baseball bat, filled with crooked, rusty nails on one end, in his tanned hand. He had reddish brown eyes and a smirk from hell. The final physical difference was his ruddy brown hair speckled with burgundy here and there.

Physical characteristics aside, Alfred's personality was quite different than his lighthearted counterpart's. He behaved in a much calmer demeanor, mysterious and calculating with a cruel sense of childish pleasure similar to Russia's. He'd barged into a world meeting one day, shocking the entire room when he marched straight up to America, gave a pleasant, 'Howdy partner!' and smashed the bat across the blonde's face.

After that meeting the others began popping out of seemingly nowhere, attempting to wreak chaos wherever their feet took them. They travelled to the original nation's homeland, murdering people and searching for the country's true personification.

Soon the others successfully created their violent reputation, and the original nations began to hide within their homes in fear of meeting an other.

World meetings were held sparingly and abruptly in order to throw off the nations' other selves. Without a planned meeting, it was much harder to be interrupted.

When asked where they came from, the others gave no answer but an off handed insult or a simple 'I don't know.'

When asked how they would get back to their own world, the others replied with a shrug or an 'I don't care.'

When asked what they wanted, the others all replied with a decisive, absolute statement of 'To take your place.'

* * *

A/N: I'm going to finish up Chapter One and upload it later tonight or tomorrow.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

Warning: Will contain explicit gore, language, and sexual themes further in the story.

* * *

_Chapter 1_

In his defense, the day started off shitty. The overbearing sun had risen enough to create a ray of heavenly light aimed directly into his drowsy eyes. The sleeping nation rolled over with a huff, but found his face suddenly wet as a small puff of white excitedly licked his face.

"Knock it off, Hanatamago. Go back to Finland's room," Iceland growled, pushing the small dog away. The animal persisted, ignoring the boy's annoyed mumblings.

Knowing sleep was now far from reach, Iceland kicked his sheets off sharply, scooting to the edge of the bed to shove his icy feet into fluffy slippers. As he stood, a terrible pain ripped through the core of his chest and he winced, seating himself on the bed again. The white haired nation brought a hand to his heart, breathing rapidly as a cold sweat spread along his hairline.

"What was that?" Iceland muttered to himself, rubbing his sore chest as a loud, obnoxious laugh echoed down the lengthy hallway.

_Denmark_. Iceland thought bitterly, shrugging away the rest of the pain and standing, albeit cautiously, once again. He shuffled to the door, opening the mahogany wood and stepping into the hallway, immediately immersed in an excellent aroma of what smelled to be cooked meat and coffee.

More enthused than before, Iceland sauntered down the twirling steps, the old stairs creaking as he traversed from room to room until he could finally see through the wide doorway to the kitchen from the living room. Flames crackled cheerly in the fireplace to his right, and light filtered in through the wall window at his back, engulfing the room in a white glow.

The other nordics were spread throughout the room, each focused on their own tasks. Denmark sat at the small table against the wall, smiling and talking a mile a minute. Norway rested silently in a chair across from the Dane , still in his pajamas, with a large cup of coffee in his hand and a newspaper in his face. Finland was pouring coffee into large mugs while Sweden remained at the stove…next to another figure.

The other person had a slim build, yet looked obviously athletic. Shiny white hair lay rustled atop his head and his back slouched as he cut through a slab of meat.

"Thanks for making the food, Icey!" Denmark exclaimed, a plate of already made bacon halfway gone at the center of the table.

Iceland, the real one, stood stock still. His muscles tensed as he realized immediately what had happened: his other self had finally surfaced.

Unlike most of the countries, the Nordics had yet to see their other selves. Now, though, it seemed as though their luck had run out.

"Yes, thank you, little brother," Norway said, accentuating 'brother' as he reached for a piece of bacon and nibbled on it delicately.

"Whatever," the imposter answered, plopping the sliced pieces into a pan on the stove.

They had to have known it wasn't really him. Iceland _never_ made breakfast!

Iceland, still watching from the living room, quietly tiptoed to the fireplace, wrapping thin fingers around one of the fire irons. He brought it forth like a sword, carefully moving towards the kitchen.

"This is the best bacon I've ever had! Maybe you should cook for us more, Iceland," Finland smiled, handing the white haired other a cup of coffee. Sweden nodded in agreement.

_Four more steps._ Iceland's mind roared, rage flowing through his veins over the fact that none of the Nordics, not even his _brother_, noticed the white haired boy was a fake.

The fire iron felt as though it weighed five hundred pounds, and Iceland's clammy palms threatened to lose purchase on the sleek metal as he swallowed thickly. His feet shuffled forward, face pale as he reached the doorway unnoticed.

Until Norway chose that exact moment to lower his newspaper, that is.

Everything happened at once. Norway stood abruptly, knocking his chair over. Finland dropped his mug in surprise, glass shattering on the floor as he turned to see Iceland in the doorway. Sweden turned as well, and Denmark snatched his butterknife from the table and pointed it at Iceland threateningly.

Iceland faltered, eyes wide as he shook his head. The other, still turned at the stove, smiled away from the spectacle. His golden eyes, hidden behind contacts of violet, glowed with a sick thrill. He whirled, finally, and stared at Iceland, false shock in his eyes.

"An other!" he breathed quietly, and Iceland took a step back.

"What?! You're the other!" The other nordics glanced between the two uncertainly, realizing they had no idea which was real. There was no way to know to tell. Nations had tried asking personal, unknown questions only the real countries would know, but the others would miraculously know the answer. The nations would have no choice but to rely on trust.

Silence filled the kitchen as Iceland glared at his other. The nordics dared not move, attempting to decide which was the true nation by a glance alone. The other, Emil, clenched and unclenched his fists. Excitement pulsed through his veins.

"Where's Mr. Puffin?" Iceland hissed, taking a step forward. Emil copied the motion.

"You tell me, other."

Iceland's hands twitched, his eyes flicking side to side before suddenly halting on the slab of meat on the counter.

_No._

Emil caught his eye, the barest hint of a smile turning the corner of his mouth upwards.

"You bastard!" Iceland screamed, animosity too kind a word to describe his anger and hatred. He rushed forward unexpectedly, swinging the iron with a satisfying snap! as the metal hook broke the skin and dug deep into Emil's upper arm. The other hissed, grabbing the iron and yanked it forward, causing Iceland to stumble as a strange pain surged through his own bicep.

Emil's fist connected with Iceland's left cheekbone, making his head swing right with enough force to knock him to the floor. The other tugged the iron from Iceland's hands, pulling the hook out before slamming the weapon down towards Iceland. The nation rolled away just in time, dizzy from the previous strike. Backing away quickly, Iceland regained his footing and put a generous amount of space between the fire iron and himself.

"What's wrong, other? Scared now that you're caught in your little act?" Emil giggled, his unstable mind peaking through the facade. "You should've known better than to go to the Nordics' house and expect to be-"

_Slam!_ The glass from Norway's cup exploded in all directions as Emil ducked just in time, turning a glare on the Norwegian.

"Norway, what the fuck?" The other barked, but caught the knowing glint in Norway's eyes.

"Iceland doesn't giggle," Sweden's gruff voice made Emil startle, and he rushed into action faster than them all.

Emil sprinted forward, swinging the fire iron as he ran through the doorway and caught Iceland in the side, the hook snagging and pulling him along for a foot or two before ripping out, pulling skin with it to create a jagged gash across his ribs.

Emil didn't stop, nor did he look back as his quick feet brought him closer to the wall length window. Keeping his arms in front of his eyes, the other broke through the window, stumbling into a run and disappeared in the forest.

Denmark, who had been following close behind, made to follow the imposter before Norway stopped him, shaking his head.

"We should get him while we can!" Denmark shook his arm away, but Norway only grabbed him again.

"No, Denmark. Don't be stupid," Norway said monotonously, blank eyes on the trees beyond the house.

"Don't be stupid?! We can end this now!"

"He has a weapon, Denmark," Norway spoke in a measured tone, as if talking to a kindergartener instead of a nation countless of years old.

"Yeah, well I have a…" the Danish man brandished the butter knife, his brows furrowing.

"A butter knife. By the time you got a real weapon he'd be gone. He already is gone," Norway's eyes met Denmark's. "He was gone the minute he entered that forest and you know it."

"Norway!" Finland called, worry obvious in his tone. Norway's attention snapped to the Finnish man.

Sweden had helped Iceland onto the couch, already checking the wound. Norway walked briskly to his brother's side as Denmark turned his wary gaze back to the trees.

"It's deep," Sweden grunted without turning to Norway, backing away for the nation to see as Iceland glared daggers at the forest.

"Does it hurt, Iceland?" Finland asked, though the white haired boy's mind was elsewhere. "Iceland?"

"Is he in shock?" Sweden questioned, hands pressing firmly on the wound.

"No," Norway whispered, spotting the building fury in Iceland's eyes.

"He cooked," Iceland seethed, taking a deep breath, "my puffin!" He jerked away, uncontrollable rage pushing him to vault over the arm of the couch and push Denmark aside, jumping down into the shattered glass. He winced immediately, regretting the action as the shards stabbed through the thin material of the slippers.

"Iceland-!"

_Boom!_ A single shot rang out followed by a scream as Denmark fell forward, nearly joining Iceland in the mess of broken window before Sweden swiftly wrapped an arm around his chest, pulling him to the safety of the wall. Finland jumped behind the couch, and Norway yanked Iceland back into the house, hand gripping the white color of the Icelandic boy's nightshirt and diving behind the wall just as a second shot rang out.

Iceland scrambled into a sitting position, back against the wall. Norway looked over to Denmark and Sweden, spotting a growing pool of crimson leaking from the clustered duo. Sweden was sitting, curled over Denmark like a shield. His protective position prevented Norway from seeing who was actually injured.

Finland, whose practiced ears had already deduced what kind of gun was being fired caught Iceland's eye.

"There's more," Finland breathed as Iceland nodded in the sudden silence, pulling at Norway's sleeve and pointing to the door to the garage on the left, adjacent the fireplace. Norway turned, rising and hauling his brother alongside him. Iceland gritted his teeth, feeling the glass shift in his feet and the gash rub awkwardly against his shirt.

Sweden tucked a hand beneath Denmark's legs and another beneath his armpits, hefting him up. Denmark had his hands pressed firmly against his injured thigh, mind flipping into war mode. The duo made eye contact with the other three Nordics, and just as they were about to make a break for the door, Finland's eyes widened and he waved his arms in front of him.

"Stop! It's the other me!" Finland's low voice carried over in the stillness of the room, "he's got my model of sniper." The Finnish man took his slipper off, easing it into view for the shooter. Within milliseconds the slipper was reduced to ragged strips across the room.

"Then what do we do?" Iceland looked between Finland and Norway, suddenly noticing his older brother's look of concentration. The coffee table in front of the couch lifted from the ground, twirling and flying to act as a shield for Sweden as he rushed across the room, bullets flying through the wood to mark it like swiss cheese. Norway added the protection of the couch, Finland ducking behind it as Iceland and Norway left their wall to open the door, closing when all of the Nordics had gotten in. The Norwegian breathed a sigh as he dropped the couch and coffee table on the other side of the door, thankful to his fairies and Troll.

"Let's go!" Denmark ordered, battle mode absolute. His leg bled heavily from the bullet other Finland, Tino, had shot.

The group piled into their large truck, Sweden sliding into the driver's position after placing Denmark in the back. Iceland, Norway, and Finland quickly spread out in the garage, pulling premade bags of weapons and food and hurling it into the back with Denmark. They'd prepared for a moment like this.

"Here," Norway handed out weapons from the back seat, giving Finland his rifle. Iceland retrieved the first aid kit, helping Denmark with his wound. Finland nodded in thanks as he turned to Sweden.

"Ready?" The Swede only revved the truck, slamming hard on the petal as the truck tore through the closed garage door and swung around, donuting towards the road before Sweden shifted gears and accelerated down the road.

"You couldn't have opened the garage?" Denmark asked from the back, grunting as Iceland injected him with an antibiotic against poison, just in case the bullet had been tainted.

"There could've been more waiting," Sweden shot a glance into the rearview mirror, noticing Iceland's pale face.

"Iceland?" The Swedish man's gruff voice caught Iceland's attention, and he shook his head.

"Let me take care of this first."

Norway leaned over his brother, brushing the shirt and pulling his hand back. Blood drenched his skin.

"Iceland, we need to take care of that," Norway's nimble fingers attempted to pull the shirt away, but the angle offered him no room.

"I'm almost done," Iceland insisted, hands tying the cloth in a knot around Denmark's thigh. He relaxed, sinking into the seat. Before Norway could bother the Icelandic boy's first would, the young nordic propped his left foot on his right thigh, carefully pulling off his slipper. "This first."  
Norway looked between the gash and the glass before peering at Denmark for assistance. He nodded.

"Alright, Icey. This is gonna be double the pain, okay?" Denmark searched around in the first aid kit, pulling out tweezers for Norway and specialized thread and a needle for himself. The two set to work, Iceland squeezing his eyes shut as Norway plucked glass and Denmark stitched him up.

"Sorry we didn't notice sooner, Iceland. You two just look identical!" Finland blurted, fingers steadily loading his gun. Iceland only nodded in response, teeth bared and grinding together.

"If there is other Iceland-" Denmark began before being interrupted.

"Emil," Iceland hissed, biting his lip.

"If there is Emil and-"

"Tino," Finland supplied.

"If there is Emil and Tino, I wonder if the rest of us are there," Denmark muttered after a purposeful pause, expecting more interruptions.

"I don't know. Maybe they're kinda like us, you know?" Finland said, cocking the gun and flipping the safety on and off. "Maybe they stick together."  
"Maybe, but I doubt they're any more like us than that," Sweden grumbled, turning right onto another long, empty path leading away from their old house.

"Could they be searching for one another?" Norway wandered aloud, pulling at one of the larger pieces of glass in Iceland's foot. "Could they be searching for the others in the group to lead an ambush?"

"Yeah, it seemed they were sizing us up, not trying to kill us," Denmark nodded, gesturing to his injured leg, "otherwise Tino woulda shot me in the head instead of the thigh."

Iceland bit his knuckle, tasting copper. He mentally slapped himself. Hadn't he spilled enough of his own blood today?

"All we can do now is go to the safehouse," Finland sighed, crossing his feet.

"If they knew where we lived, could they know where our safe houses are?" Iceland asked between heavy breaths. The car was utterly silent until Denmark chuckled.

"Then I guess our safe house tonight is a good ol'e cheap hotel."


End file.
